Unnatural: A Supernatural Parody
by thatsaxophonegirl
Summary: Sam & Dean Winchester are on a mission. Saving people, hunting things, the family business: though not quite the way you remember it.


A/N: Hi all! I thought I'd try my hand at a new parody, since I'm having issues with writer's block with my other story (The Babe & the Beast; check it out!). Supernatural is one of my favorite shows, and while it's already fantastic on its own, I decided to try and add my own twists. I hope you guys like it. Rate & review? :-)

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.

Unnatural: A Parody

Episode 1 – Pilot

-Lawrence, Kansas, 22 Years Ago-

The scene opened to show some clichéd dead trees rustling softly in the evening breeze while crickets chirped in the distance. The camera panned down to reveal a ridiculously large white house, which was dark except for one lit window. It was clear that the residents of the house were settling down for a nice, quiet night.

_Crash!_

Or so it seemed.

"Dean Winchester!" A man inside the house barked, chasing after a young boy who couldn't have been more than four years old. "You get your ass back here! I swear, when I'm through with you, you won't be able to sit down for a _week!"_

"Go easy on him, John," a woman, presumably John's wife and Dean's mother, chided lightly. "He's only a child. He doesn't know any better."

Just then there was another thunderous crash, this time coming from the kitchen. John and his wife, whose name was Mary, raced to the kitchen to find Mary's precious china dishes in shards all over the floor. "Oh, that DOES it! Come here, you little brat!" Mary took off after her son, who laughed like an evil little maniac.

After what seemed like hours of chasing Dean around the house and giving him a sound spanking that would make even adults cringe in fear, the family was finally ready for bed. Mary picked Dean up and carried him upstairs to a nursery, where a baby lay in a crib. "Say goodnight to your brother, Dean."

Dean, who was still wincing a bit from his earlier disciplining, leaned into the crib and gave his brother a fist bump. "Peace out, Sammy. I'm still way cuter than you."

John walked into the room then, a football in his hand. "Hey Dean, think fast!" he declared, hurling the football at his son. The ball caught Dean in the chest and he collapsed like a sack of bricks. John shook his head in disappointment. "_Weak_."

"John!" Mary snapped, glaring at her husband.

"What? The kid's four, he can take a hit." John looked over at Sam's crib. "Hey, maybe Sam can—"

"He's six months old, John!" Mary said, exasperated.

"That's no excuse!"

Mary shook her head and turned back to Sam, who gurgled and grabbed his foot. He was being too stinkin' cute, really. "Goodnight, Sam. Please, dear god, please grow up to be _nothing_ like your father. And make your brother's life a living hell when you're older."

"Uh…why're you talkin' to him like you're _dead_?" John questioned suspiciously.

"Shhh! Don't spoil it now!" Mary hissed, quickly hustling Dean and John out of the nursery.

Several hours later, Mary was peacefully asleep in her room, dreaming of a time when she was single and had no children. She smiled and sighed in her sleep, enjoying the peaceful serenity of—

"WAAAAHHHHH!"

"Son of a bitch!" Mary growled, angrily flinging the sheets back and glaring at the baby monitor perched on the nightstand. "One night. That's all I ask for." She got up and stomped out and down the hall to Sam's nursery. She stopped at the doorway as there was a mysterious figure standing at the crib. "What's his deal, John? Is he hungry? Please tell me he's not hungry because I am SO not in the mood for this right now."

The figure shushed her, and Mary, thinking nothing of it, shrugged and turned to go back to sleep. It was then that she wondered if she had left the oven on, and so went downstairs to check. She froze upon reaching the foot of the stairs, as John was fast asleep in his chair in the living room, snoring like a chainsaw. "Wait…if you're here…then who was…oh, _FUDGE."_ Mary bolted back upstairs and into Sam's nursery, and of _course_ the scene had to switch back to John, who was still snoring away.

Suddenly a piercing scream shattered the silence. It had no effect on John, who was still completely out cold. The scream came again, and John stirred slightly in his sleep, but did not wake. A producer grew frustrated and threw his shoe at John's face, knocking him into consciousness. "_Hrronk-_nagah? Whassat?"

Just then the scream came a third time, and John's eyes widened. "Mary? Oh crud!" He jumped up from his chair and ran for the stairs, only to trip over the shoe that had been thrown at him and land hard on his face. "_Mothercrapper!" _he cursed, rubbing his bruised cheek as he staggered up the stairs and headed to Sam's nursery, violently throwing the door open to see…

Sam lying peacefully in his crib, still making his adorable baby sounds. John breathed a sigh of relief and walked over to the crib, giving his son a fist bump. "What up, S-Dawg?" he asked, smiling down at the baby. "You wouldn't happen to know where your mom would be, would you? See, she's got this thing where she screams when she wants to do the nasty, so—"

Suddenly something dark dripped onto the blankets next to Sam. John frowned and touched it, his fingers coming back red. "Where the hell did this ketchup come from?" he demanded, as more of the stuff dripped into Sam's crib. John looked up, eyes wide with terror, only to see Mary stuck to the ceiling, a large red gash across her stomach and her face twisted into a look of pure terror. "Dammit! Dean got into the super glue again, didn't he? That little swine has no idea what I've got in store for him!"

Just then fire erupted from Mary's body, engulfing the entire ceiling in flame. John stared up at his wife in awe. "…WHOA! I had no idea you were a Firebender! You gotta teach me how to do that!"

"I'm DEAD, you idiot!" Mary finally barked, having had enough of her husband's stupidity. I guess this means she's a ghost now (at least in this story).

"Oh." John paused. "…_AAAAUUUGGGHHH!"_

Sam began crying and John quickly grabbed the baby and ran out of the room, screaming his head off. He was so intent on getting the hell out of there that he nearly tripped over Dean, who had come to investigate. John shoved Sam into Dean's arms. "Hurry! Take your brother outside as fast as you can! And grab my beer from the fridge on your way out! I'll get the television and the Xbox!"

"AHEM." Mary's ghost cleared her throat from the other room. John rolled his eyes.

"Oh, FINE. And your mom's blackened remains as well."

Dean quickly made his way outside as John went back into the nursery, staring at his wife's body in desperation as the entire room began to burn. "Oh, Mary…" he sniffled and wiped his eyes, angrily kicking away the bowl of onions that had appeared next to him. "…I always knew you were a _hottie_. Am I right? Am I right?" John winked at the camera cheesily while the audience groaned at the lame-ass joke.

Dean stood outside and stared up at the fire, which seemed to be contained in Sam's room alone. He then looked down at Sam, who was still crying softly. "It's okay, Sammy. See, only _your _room was destroyed. We still have the whole rest of the house. Well, me and Dad do, at least. You're kinda out of luck."

John came running out of the house and joined his boys on the front lawn, turning to look up at the fire. "Well, here's to years of therapy bills and severe mental scarring, boys," he sighed, scratching his head. "Not to mention what that fire will do to my _marvelous _paint job, I just finished it last week, too…"

-Stanford University, Present Day (And By That We Mean October 31, 2005)-

Finally, a scene change! After the horrible and traumatizing events twenty-two years prior, Sam Winchester, now a very attractive young man with longish brown hair, lay on a bed in a decent-sized apartment bedroom while a young blonde woman, whom we'll call Jess, ran around, getting ready for a party. "Come on, Sam! We were supposed to be there like an hour ago!" Jess declared as she changed her shirt for the umpteenth time.

"I WAS ready an hour ago," Sam said matter-of-factly, sitting up as Jess ran into the bathroom. "Seriously, how long does it take to put on a damn outfit? _Women."_ He shook his head in disgust.

Jess came out of the bathroom, striking what she hoped was a sexy pose, sucking in her stomach and pursing her lips into a duck face. It also helped that she had remembered to shave her legs and moustache that day. "Well? What do you think?"

Sam raised an eyebrow. Jess was dressed in a red and white outfit that had an almost nonexistent skirt, a top that was little more than a bra, and a white hat with a red cross on it. "Uh…what are you supposed to be?"

"A nurse, duh!" Jess laughed.

Sam coughed. "Yeah, um, I'm pretty sure nurses don't dress like slu—"

"Can it! I'm a nurse, dammit! After all, _I'm_ the one that's going to have to pull the foot out of your ass if you don't start showing me some respect!" Jess snapped, smacking him on the shoulder. "What the hell are _you _supposed to be, anyway?"

"I'm not anything. I hate Halloween, remember?" Sam stated.

"They're not going to let you in unless you have a costume," Jess warned, placing her hands on her hips. "I know! You can be a buzzkill! You're already doing a great job at that!"

Sam looked skyward, remembering to breathe deeply and count to ten like his relationship counselor taught him. "Let's just go, alright?"

-A Little While Later, At The Party-

When Sam and Jess arrived at the bar, the party was in full swing. Everyone was drunk off their asses, and Jess immediately joined in. Sam insisted on being a party pooper until Jess threatened him with no sex for a month, and he joined in and was soon just as smashed as everyone else.

"Here's to Sam!" Jess slurred as she clambered up onto a table, holding up what had to be her twentieth shot. Sam was poised to catch her if she were to fall, but he was also seeing three of her due to his inebriated state and would really be of no help to anyone. "He's the hottest, the smartest, and the bestest boyfriend in the whole world! He knocked the pants off of his LSAT, just like he knocked the pants off of me the night we first met! Take me, baby!" Jess attempted to dive into Sam's lap, but she tripped and ended up falling flat on her face. No one even tried to catch her.

"Did you really do that well on your LSAT?" one of the few sober people in the room, Luis, asked Sam, who blinked slowly.

"Hells yeah!" Sam declared and threw a fist up in victory. However, instead of going up, Sam's hand flew sideways and accidently punched another patron in the face, knocking the man out cold. "That LSAT was my _bitch! _Now all I gotta do is run a gauntlet, sacrifice a virgin, and ace my interview next Monday, and I'm well on my way to becoming a real Pokémon master!"

"Uh, I think you mean law school student," Luis coughed. "So what does your family think about all of this?" Luis asked. Sam immediately scowled and curled his hand into a fist.

"Grr…I have no family, Luis! How many times do we gotta go over this? They were holding me back, keeping me from pursuing my dreams! I'm better off without them!" Sam huffed before bursting into tears. "Oh God, I miss them so much…" He then proceeded to vomit all over the floor (and all over Jess).

"Oh jeez…" Luis groaned, burying his face into his hands.

-Later That Night, Back At Sam & Jess's Place-

Both Sam and Jess were passed out on the bed back at their place, sleeping off the activities of the night. Sam snored away like a jackhammer when suddenly there was a thud from downstairs. The sound had no effect on Sam whatsoever, and he rolled over, snorting slightly as he snuggled into his pillow. Like father, like son. The same producer from before threw his other shoe at the younger Winchester, startling him out of his sleep.

"Huh-wha? Why does my face hurt?" Sam rubbed his head in confusion. Another thud from downstairs caught Sam's attention, and he immediately snapped into ninja mode, making his way downstairs while humming the theme from Mission Impossible. He paused when he reached the foot of the stairs, as the figure of a man moved into the living room. Sam decided to rely on the element of surprise and waited, counting to three: one, two…

"Aaaayiyiyiyiyiyiyiiiiii!" Sam let out an impressive war shriek as he ran into the room to attack the intruder. Almost immediately he caught his foot on the coffee table and tripped, crumpling to the floor. "Ow! Dammit! Stupid coffee table! Ruined my dramatic entrance, gawd!"

The man sighed and ran a hand through his short, spiky brown hair. "Nice to see you too, Sam." Sam's head jerked upward in surprise. _He knew that voice._

"No way! It's you!" Sam cried out in happiness. "I always knew you were real, Santa!"

"What? No!" the man said, smacking Sam across the face. "I'm your brother Dean!"

"Oh." Sam paused. "_Booooo."_

Dean rolled his eyes. "Get up, loser." He hoisted his brother up into a standing position, only to let him go at the last second, causing Sam to topple back to the floor. Dean shook his head and laughed. "When're you gonna learn, Sammy?"

Sam glared at his brother as he stood back up, rubbing his backside. "You're such a jerk! What the hell are you doing here? And why did you even have to sneak in here in the first place? I mean, you could have at least knocked on the front door!"

"Oh come on. It's my first scene in the entire show! I had to make it count! Besides, can't a guy pay a visit to his baby brother?" Dean clapped a hand on Sam's shoulder, probably giving him a bruise in the process.

"Sam?" Jess popped up out of nowhere, turning on the light and scaring the crap out of Sam and Dean, who both jumped about five feet into the air and let out identical high-pitched screams.

"Don't DO that!" Sam snapped, trying to recollect himself. Dean, on the other hand, seemed to completely forget about Sam as a female was now in the room.

"Mama-sita! Ding, ding, ding! What do we have here?" Dean purred, sauntering up to Jess. "Are you from Tennessee, babe? 'Cause you're the only ten _I _see." He winked suggestively.

"Okay, stop. Rewind. DELETE." Jess narrowed her eyes. "No one gets into my pants unless their name is Sam Winchester, got it? Only he has rights to _this_ hot mess!" She crossed her arms, glaring at Dean while smiling seductively at Sam, a feat not easily achieved.

Sam pushed Dean out of the way, turning to Jess and smiling sheepishly. "Sorry about that, babe. You can choose your friends, but you can't choose your family." He glared back at Dean. "Dean, this is my smokin' hot girlfriend, Jessica. Jess, this is Dean, my dumbass of an older brother."

"Dean?" Jess grinned. "You mean the guy who still watches Barney and cries when he stubs his toe? And still sleeps with a teddy bear? And—"

"That's enough!" Sam cut her off, nervously glancing over at his brother. "Dean, just tell us why you're here."

Dean sighed. "Well, I wasn't going to spoil the surprise, but…" He paused dramatically. "We're going to Disneyland, Sammy! Four nights, five days at the happiest place on earth!" Dean clapped his hands in glee. "Oh, and also: Dad hasn't been home in a few days."

"Really?" Sam asked, his face lit up in excitement. "I love Disneyland!" Suddenly the rest of Dean's statement seemed to click, and he frowned. "Wait, what?"

"Dad hasn't been home in a few days." Dean repeated, his voice dark and ominous. Sam blinked.

"Oh. That's…considerably _less _exciting than Disneyland."

"You're missing the point, Sam!" Dean said, exasperated. "Dad's on a _hunting_ trip. He's been gone for days."

"Hunting? Are you talking about our family business where we hunt supernat—"

"Yes, THAT kind of hunting," Dean interrupted, glaring at Sam for almost revealing the family secret. He turned to Jess, who had what she thought was a puzzled look on her face. In reality, there were too many big words being used in the conversation and she was thoroughly confused. "'Scuse us, sweetcheeks. I need to borrow your boyfriend for some…_family stuff."_

-A Little While Later -

"Okay, so _why_ do you need my help again?" Sam asked as he and Dean made their way down the stairs to the ground floor of the apartment building.

"Help? Who said anything about me needing your help?" Dean scoffed. "I just need a punching bag for both verbal and physical abuse. Not to mention that it's high time you left this college crap for good." Dean shook his head. "I mean, come on! You're freakin' housebroken now! You KNOW what happens after that, don't you? They cut your nuts off, man!"

Sam shook his head. "Dean, I told you. I swore I was done hunting. I can't take this life on the road stuff anymore. Besides, look what it's done to you! We used to hunt things as a hobby, and now—now you're hooked on it like crack! I just want a normal life! You know what Dad said when I told him I was scared of the monster under my bed? He gave me a .45 and said 'have fun, try not to get eaten'! Mom would never have done that!"

Dean sighed. "Yeah, you're probably right." Sam nodded, satisfied to have won the argument. "…She would have made you sleep outside."

"That's beside the point!"

The boys reached the parking lot and headed over to Dean's ride, which was a black '67 Chevy Impala, complete with spinning rims, subwoofers, and some brand new leather upholstery. _Whistle!_ Sam was too busy bitching and so was unable to appreciate the awesomeness of the car. Ass. "I just wanted to go to college, Dean. Dad said if I was gonna leave I should stay gone. And also to take the trash on my way out."

"Yeah, and you DIDN'T. Besides, this is like the perfect chance to prove your manliness to your girlfriend." Dean smirked and opened the trunk to reveal several beer cans, porn magazines, and an old, worn copy of _The Notebook. _Sam raised an eyebrow at Dean, who coughed and grabbed the book and threw it to the side. "That's, uh, not mine."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, you don't need me to hold your hand, except of course when you cross the street. But you can do this on your own. So put on your big boy pants and leave me out of it."

"But I don't want to do it alone!" Dean whined, stamping his foot and sticking his lower lip out like a child. "I want you to go with me!"

Sam sighed and prayed to everything he considered holy and sacred that he kept his sanity. "…what was Dad hunting, anyway?"

Dean opened the spare tire compartment to the trunk, revealing a lavishly decorated arsenal, complete with guns, chains, and knives, all in black and hot pink. He reached in and pulled out several newspaper clippings. "So there was this dude in Jericho, California, who completely vanished from his car about a month ago. And then there was another one in April, and in December; ten of them over the past twenty years on the same stretch of road. The victims were also reported to have all been males with some _sweet_ rides, so if my calculations are correct, they're all compensating for something." Dean pulled a tape recorder out of his pocket. "After Dad went missing, I got this voicemail." He pressed the play button.

"_Hello? Is this thing working?"_ John's voice echoed in the night air. _"Dammit, Dean, I told you not to leave your dirty underwear on the floor! Do you think I'm your damn maid? Gawd! Anyway, there's some crap going down here lately, so watch your back. Be careful and all that jazz. Don't make me have to come save your ass again. And eat your vegetables, brat! Peace."_ Dean pressed the stop button.

Sam cocked his head. "Wait a minute! There's EVP on that!" He turned to the audience. "That stands for 'Electronic Voice Phenomenon', in case you didn't know."

"Shut up! I was _getting_ there!" Dean pressed play again. This time the message was slowed down, and a woman's voice could be heard.

"_I can never go home…I forgot to do the dishes and Mom'll be PISSED. I can never go home…" _The message hissed and then cut out.

"Okay, THAT'S not creepy at all." Sam slapped Dean on the shoulder. "Well, have fun! Don't forget to write, like how you forgot to do so for TWO FRIGGIN' YEARS. I'm gonna go have sex with my hotter than hot girlfriend." He turned to leave.

Dean grabbed Sam's arm. "Oh, come on! Please come with me? It'll be like old times! Remember when I used to make those fake hex bags and tell you witches were out to get you? Or when I would use a dog whistle to lure werewolves to the hotel room? Remember? Good times!" Sam scoffed and tried again to walk away, but Dean latched his arms around Sam's leg, preventing him from leaving. "Please, Sammy! I'm begging you, here! Please? Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease—"

"ALRIGHT ALREADY!" Sam roared, kicking Dean off his leg. "Gawd! You're so effing annoying! I just have to be back by Monday; I have a _very important _interview for law school, and my entire future depends on—"

"Yeah, yeah, important crap." Dean shoved Sam toward the apartment. "Go get your stuff, loser. Time's a-wastin'!"

-With Sam-

Sam was back in the apartment, packing a duffel bag with things that he would need on this trip. Jess walked in, looking quite upset.

"The hell is this? Your brother shows up out of nowhere and you think you can just waltz out of here? What about _me?_"

"Sorry babe," Sam apologized, zipping up the bag. "Bro's before ho's. Besides, he's got this really embarrassing picture of me playing with Barbies from when I was twelve, and he threatened to show it to everyone on Facebook unless I went with him."

Jess rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. Everyone's seen that picture already."

"WHAT?!"

"Besides, I'm your _girlfriend,"_ Jess pouted. "Though I WON'T be if you don't give me a good explanation for all this crap! And what about Monday?"

"Calm down, I'll make the interview in time. Don't worry." Sam reassured. Jess frowned in confusion.

"Interview? What interview? I was talking about our anniversary!"

Sam blinked and cleared his throat. "Uh, right. Of course. That's what I meant. Don't worry; I've got everything under control." Sam kissed Jess on the cheek and hastily exited the apartment, leaving her to sit and pout like a four-year-old.

-Centennial Highway, Jericho, California-

A single car moved swiftly down a lonely highway in the night, its tires kicking up small bits of gravel. There was only one man in the car, and he was busy jabbering away on his cell phone, not really paying attention to the road. This'll end well.

"Dammit, Amy, I _told_ you!" the man, whom we'll call Troy, snapped. "I can't come over tonight! …Why? Because there's a sweet new pair of boots on sale at Macy's and I have GOT to buy them! Priorities, woman!"

Suddenly Troy paused as he caught sight of a beautiful dark-haired woman in a white dress on the side of the road, dancing the Macarena. "Hot DAMN! Who's THAT fine young honey? Baby got _back!"_ Troy whistled appreciatively. "Sorry babe, gotta go; I've got a hot date in five! Ciao, bitch!" He hung up the phone and tossed it in the backseat, pulling his car over to the woman. Up close, the audience could see that her dress was torn in several places, but the woman herself was unscathed, and she had a sort of wistful look on her face. Troy rolled down the window and smiled at the woman. "Hey there, sexy. What's happenin'?" He gave her what he thought was a seductive smirk, but it only made him look constipated.

The woman tilted her head at him, her eyes never leaving his face. "Take me home?"

"Sure thing!" Troy threw the passenger door open, accidentally knocking the woman over and into the mud. "Whoops! Sorry, toots! You okay?" The woman dragged herself up out of the mud and into the car, smearing dirt all over the place. "No, no, that's okay. I've always wanted to pay hundreds of dollars to replace the seats—"

"Just take me home, dammit!" the woman snapped, smacking the back of Troy's head.

"Geez, you're so NEEDY. Alright, fine!" Troy started the car and continued down the road, muttering curses to himself. "What do you think you're doing out here all by yourself, anyway? And in a low cut dress like that! There's perverts out here, sweetie!"

"Perverts like _you?_" the woman shot back. Troy cleared his throat nervously.

"Uh…so where am I dropping you off?"

The woman nodded at the highway. "At the end of Breckenridge Road. You wanna come hang out? I've got a water bed. And Legos. And the first three seasons of _Doctor Who _on DVD."

"_Do_ I?" Troy asked. "I'd LOVE to! I've always wanted a water bed!"

They pulled up in front of a broken down old house. The woman stared at it sadly, biting her lip. "I can _never_ go home," she whispered ominously, making the audience realize that she was the same woman from the recording Dean had (which means bleep's goin' _down_).

"Aw, come on!" Troy tried to reassure her. "It's nothing that the guys from Extreme Home Makeover couldn't fix! Here, maybe a hot and heavy make out session will help!" He moved in to try to kiss her but she suddenly vanished, causing Troy to bang his chin on the car door and bite his tongue. "Well, gee, a simple _no_ would have sufficed!" He rubbed his face and got out of the car, looking up at the house. He tilted his head, as though hearing a voice. "What's that, creepy abandoned house? Come closer? Well, I don't know…wait, really? Well, when you put it like that…okie dokie!"

Troy skipped up to the front door, peering inside. The house was coated in layers of dust, and almost immediately Troy's allergies kicked up and he started sneezing. Through his watery eyes, though, he could see a picture in the house of the same woman from before, along with two young children. He gasped in realization.

"What! That whore never told me she had _kids! _That's it; I'm out!" Troy stormed back over to his car in a huff, getting in and driving away. As his car neared a bridge, Troy happened to glance in the rearview mirror, and, to his surprise, the woman from before was in the backseat. "Oh, so THAT'S where you were! Well, ride's over, sweetcheeks! I know your secret! I don't date chicks with kids, so you can just march your ass back to that dump you call—"

"Oh, for Pete's sake," the woman grumbled, and suddenly the car veered toward the bridge, crashing through a 'Bridge Closed' sign, screeching to a halt halfway across. Troy looked back at the woman, slightly confused.

"What—what are you doing? H-hey! Stop! Oh God, is that…please tell me that's not…no! Please, no! _Mommyyyy_!" Troy screamed as red stuff suddenly splattered all over the windows. _Ewww. _I _really _hope that that's ketchup…

-At A Gas Station, With Sam And Dean!-

Sam was sitting in the car, rummaging through a box of cassette tapes as Dean walked out of the convenience store, a bag of junk food in his arms. "Hey there, Sammy! You want breakfast?" Dean asked.

"Sure!" Sam excitedly reached for the bag.

Dean smacked Sam's hand away. "Then go buy your own." He opened a bag of chips and shoved a handful into his mouth. "Seriously, I'm not your damn servant." Sam glared at his brother before going back to the tapes.

"How'd you pay for all that stuff, anyway? You and Dad still running credit card scams and cheating little old ladies?"

"Drug dealing, too," Dean added. "Also, I swiped about two hundred bucks from your dresser before we left."

"What?!"

"Besides, all we do is apply. It's not our fault that they send us the cards," Dean stated, hopping into the car.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Uh huh. And what names did you write on the application this time? Seymour Butz? Mike Hunt? Hugh Jass?" Sam shook his head and stared at the box of cassette tapes in his lap. "Also, what the crap is up with your cassette tape collection? I mean, Spice Girls? Britney Spears? _Backstreet Boys? _Your taste sucks, and so do you."

"Shut up! You just don't understand REAL music!" Dean snapped, snatching a tape from the box. "Besides, Sammy, it's my car, my rules. Number one rule is that you shut the hell up." Dean started the car and slid the tape into the player, and immediately 'Larger Than Life' began blasting through the speakers. "_I may run and hide when you're screamin' my name, alright!"_

"You know," Sam shouted over the music, clutching his bleeding ears, "I prefer 'Sam', alright? I'm going to continually remind you of this for the next twenty or so episodes, until one day when I reveal the fact that I actually find the nickname to be quite endearing. It'll drive the audience _wild._"

"Turn the music up? Okay!" Dean cranked up the volume, and the two drove off down the road.

-A Little While Later, On Centennial Highway-

Several hours later, the boys were driving down the same stretch of road that Troy had been driving on the previous night. The last few strains of 'I Want It That Way' died out, and Dean fell back in the seat, a satisfied smile on his face (damn, that sounded dirty). "Now THAT'S what I call good music!"

"Uh, yeah. Sure it is, Dean." Sam wiped his ear and tossed another bloodied tissue in the backseat. He turned his attention back to his cell phone, as he was in the middle of a call. "Yeah. Okay, thank you." He hung up. "So, there's no one matching Dad at the hospital or the morgue. I checked with the whore houses as well, and no one's seen him there either. So that's something, right?"

Dean nodded. Suddenly something caught his eye. "Hey, check it out!" He pulled the car over, gesturing to several police cars that were stopped at a bridge just ahead of them. Officers were scattered all over the place. Dean reached over to open the glove compartment, withdrawing a box and popping it open. Inside there were several fake ID's, including ones for the FBI and Chippendales licenses. Dean grabbed two ID's and handed one to Sam, and then the brothers exited the car and headed over to the crime scene.

One of the deputies, Deputy Jaffe, leaned over the side of the bridge, peering down at the water where two men in wetsuits were searching for clues. "You guys find anything?" he called out.

"Yeah! I found a quarter!" One of them held up the shiny currency with a grin.

"That's nothing!" the other man scoffed. "I found TEN!" He held up a bag of coins.

"That's NOT what I meant!" the deputy snapped, turning back to the crime scene. There was a lone car that looked suspiciously similar to Troy's car (minus all the blood—or ketchup) in the middle of the bridge. It was obviously the main part of the crime scene. Another deputy, Deputy Hein, was inspecting the car, clicking his tongue in disapproval.

"It's no good," he stated, shaking his head. "Have you _seen_ the miles on this car? And this paint job is mediocre at best. I would have gone with purple and gold detailing—"

Jaffe smacked the back of Hein's head. "Shuttie! We're supposed to be looking for _clues_, you numbskull!"

"Right. Sorry." Hein looked back at the vehicle. "I just don't get it. No sign of a struggle, no fingerprints, nothing. It's just too…_clean_." He then bent down and picked up a handful of dirt, smudging it all over the windshield.

"HEY!"

"Sorry," Hein apologized again. "It's just my daughter, Amy. She was Troy's girlfriend and he was always a total douchebag to her. As a matter of fact, she's out trying to get people to sign a petition for us to drop the case as we speak. Personally, I'd love to do just that. The last thing we need is the feds coming down on our asses here."

"Ding dong! Did somebody call for federal officers?" Dean sang as he and Sam strolled up to the officers. Dean pulled out his badge and held it up to Jaffe. "Read it and weep, boys!"

"…You're holding your badge upside down, dumbass." Sam sighed.

"Oh, am I?" Dean glanced at his badge, and then flipped it over. "Whoopsie. My bad." He tucked the badge into his jacket. "Anyway, you guys had a case like this a while ago, didn't you? Some dude drives off in the middle of the night alone, which is a really smart idea in the first place, and then vanishes into thin air?"

Jaffe narrowed his eyes at the boys. "Federal marshals, you say? Aren't you two a little _young_ for that position?"

"Such a flirt. Sorry, man; I don't swing that way," Dean said firmly. "I'm going to insist this for the rest of the series, or at least until Destiel becomes canon. Uh, um, I mean, shush! Just answer the question!"

Jaffe nodded. "About a mile up the road. There were more before that as well."

"Did you know the victim?" Sam questioned.

"Unfortunately yes," Hein said. "Everyone in town knows he's a colossal horndog with an eye for the ladies. I have personal beef with the guy because he tried to coax my daughter into a threesome, which she's only allowed to have on weekends. We've tried to connect the victims, but no luck. The men's wives all seem to be surprisingly okay with their disappearances, though. Can't say I blame them." Hein shook his head. "That's all we have so far."

"What? That's it?" Dean glared at the deputies. "You didn't even look for the spare change under his seats? And you call yourselves police officers?" He was abruptly cut off by Sam, who stomped hard on Dean's foot to silence him.

"Sorry about that, gentlemen. My partner gets cranky when he doesn't have his naptime," Sam apologized, and the deputies nodded in understanding. Sam quickly guided Dean away from the scene. As soon as they were out of earshot, Dean turned and punched his brother in the face.

"Ow! What the hell was that for?!"

"You hurt my foot, asshole!" Dean snapped.

Sam tried to slow the blood flow from his nose, glaring at Dean. "That doesn't constitute breaking my FACE, you dick!"

Just then, the sheriff, whom we'll call Sheriff Pierce, and two unnamed FBI agents walked onto the scene, the FBI agents sniffling a little in sadness over not getting names. Poor guys. The sheriff strolled up to the Winchester boys, a look of suspicion on his face.

"Can I help you gentlemen?"

Dean smiled. "As a matter of fact, you can. Will you go tell your deputy friend over there that he can kiss my—"

"OKAY WE'RE LEAVING GOTTA GO NOW BYE!" Sam practically shoved Dean away and back over to the car, the officers all watching them in a mysterious, slightly creepy manner. I've got my eye on you guys…

-In Jericho, California-

Sam and Dean strolled into town, having decided to find the deputy's daughter and ask her some questions. Their search was slowed down considerably by Dean, who insisted on tagging every building by drawing penises on them with a Sharpie marker, only to get punched in the gut by Sam. After what seemed like ages, they noticed a young woman walking around with a petition and a picture of Troy. Speak of the devil!

"I'll bet you that's her," Sam whispered to Dean, who nodded in agreement.

"Definitely. Her face, that body…that's _definitely_ Shanti Dynamite."

"What?" Sam turned to see Dean watching a fuzzy video inside of a triple X store. "Dude! No! Over there! It's Amy!"

Dean turned, noticing the girl for the first time. "Oh. Amy. Right. Let's go!"

The two brothers skipped over to the girl, who was trying to get the attention of a woman inside of a movie theatre box office. "You don't understand!" Amy protested, banging on the glass. "Troy Squire is a pansy and a pervert, and he deserves whatever happened to him! Just sign my petition, please!" She thrust the paper at the woman, who flipped the little sign on the box office so that it read 'CLOSED'.

"Fine! Be that way, bitch! See if I go to any more movies this year!" Amy kicked the building, bruising her foot and turning away in a huff, only to run into Sam and Dean. Dean flashed her a bright smile.

"Hey there, good-lookin'. Are you angel? Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?"

Sam kicked Dean in the shin. "Dude, _foreshadow!"_

"What? That's not for another seven seasons, calm down!" Dean glared at his brother before turning back to Amy, who was staring at them as though they had the plague. "Anyway, you must be Amy. We're Troy's uncles."

Amy raised an eyebrow. "Uncles? So you're the ones who used to beat him to a pulp and leave him horribly scarred for the rest of his life, twisting his mind so that he became the awful douchwad and pervert that he is today?"

Sam cleared his throat nervously. "Uh…"

Just then another woman walked up, giving both Winchesters a once-over before looking at Amy. "Which one do you want?" she asked matter-of-factly.

"_What?"_ Both Amy and Sam spluttered, while Dean's face instantly lit up like a kid at Christmas.

"Now THAT'S what I'm talking about!"

-A Little While Later, In A Diner Nearby-

Dean, Sam, Amy, and Rachel (Amy's friend from earlier) all sat in a booth in the local diner, Dean and Rachel giving each other seductive looks while Sam and Amy were trying to look anywhere but. Eventually, the waitress came over and told them to either stop eye-raping each other or get the hell out.

"So, what can you tell us about that night?" Sam asked as he elbowed Dean hard in the side, causing his expression to go from sexy to startled cow in .01 seconds.

Amy took a deep breath. "Well, I was on the phone with Troy, trying to tell him that I was breaking up with him for being such a tool, but he kept jawing about some stupid shoe sale at Macy's. Then all of a sudden he said something about a hot date and the bastard hung up on me." She shook her head. "It's scarily similar to the legend."

"What legend?" Dean asked, his attention now focused solely on Amy. Or he was focused on her chest. It was difficult to say.

Amy turned to Rachel before turning back to the boys. "There's this local legend of a woman who died out on Centennial. Rumor has it that she's still out there, preying on douchebags who try to hit on her and if they do, they disappear…_forever."_ Amy looked at Dean, who had a vacant expression on his face. "Are you even listening to me?!"

Dean blinked and started, wiping the drool off his chin. "Sorry, what? I was just thinking about all the dirty things I'd like to do to y—"

"OOOOUUUUUTTTTTT!" Amy grabbed Dean by his shirt and tossed him through the large plate-glass window in the diner. Sam jumped up and pulled Dean to his feet, yanking him away from the diner while Rachel leaned out to watch them leave. "Call me!" she called out after Dean.

-At The Local Library-

"Come on, dammit!" Dean cursed as he pushed the computer keyboard away from his person, glaring at the monitor. "Son of a bitch! I can't figure it out! This is a complete waste of time!"

"Here, let me try," Sam said, reaching over and pressing a few keys. Just then the computer made a 'ding!' sound and the words 'CHECKMATE' flashed on the screen. "Ta-da! Sam wins!"

Dean grumbled to himself and hit 'RESTART' on his online chess game. "Whatever. I SO could have done that. Anyway, what did you find?"

Sam turned his own computer monitor to face Dean. "Well, angry spirits are born out of violent deaths and too many _Friends _reruns, right? So maybe it's not murder." He typed in 'Female suicide Centennial Highway', and an article entitled 'SUICIDE ON CENTENNIAL' came up. Sam clicked on it. "It says here that Constance Welch, 24 years old, jumped off the Sylvania Bridge and drowned in 1981. It also says that she was a mega-babe and a terrible mother, as she was watching _Desperate Housewives _when her kids accidentally drowned in the bath. ''Connie might have been quiet, but the bitch got what was coming to her. Oh crud. You're not gonna quote me on that, are you?' says Deanna Kripke, a neighbor.'"

Dean moved over to look at the article. There was a picture in the corner that showed the same woman (Constance Welch) that had presumably killed Troy, as well as a picture of a man (Joseph Welch) flipping the bird next to a very familiar looking bridge. "Hey, haven't we seen that before?"

-Sylvania Bridge, Nighttime-

Sam and Dean were back at the bridge, looking over the railing and into the river. Dean noted the distance and let out an impressed whistle. "So this is where Constance kicked the bucket, huh? I gotta say, I'm kind of surprised. If I'd have been here at the time I would have stopped her. Like hell I'd let a fine young thing like her get away!"

"You're unbelievable." Sam shook his head in disgust. "Anyway, do you think Dad would have been here? Surely we would have seen him by now? Or smelled him, at least? I mean the guy drinks like ten six packs a day."

"He'll turn up," Dean said reassuringly. "Besides, I stole his beer cap collection, he has to return for it sometime." He turned away, shrugging amiably. "We'll have to keep digging; might take a while."

Sam stopped, looking down at his feet. He had stepped in something squishy, and…yep. It was definitely dog crap. Damn. "Uh, yeah, about that, Dean. I have to get back by Monday—"

"Hm? You were serious about that?" Dean turned around to face Sam, who was scraping his shoe on the side of the bridge. "You think you're just going to become some hotshot lawyer and make six figures a week? Marry your extremely sexy girlfriend? …Hey, that actually seems kind of nice…I mean, no! Does Jess even know who you really are?" Dean challenged.

Sam narrowed his eyes. "No, and she's never going to know. Besides, if Peter Parker and Clark Kent can live this life, why can't I?"

"Uh, because they're awesome and you're not?" Dean shook his head. "You're gonna have to face it sooner or later, Sammy: you're one of us. Join me, and together you and I can rule the galaxy as brother and…brother!" He paused for a moment. "Plus Dad and I have a bet going, and I _really_ don't want to lose sixty bucks."

"No! I'll never join you!" Sam insisted. "I'm done with this life! You and Dad dragged me all over the place without asking for my opinion on anything! Do you _know_ how much McDonald's I've consumed over the past twenty years? How many times I've had to wash your damn socks? Not to mention the bed bugs! I'm tired of Dad's little crusade to find the thing that killed mom! I don't even know what she looks like!"

"What are you talking about? I showed you her picture like a million times," Dean said, puzzled. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Dean, that was a drawing you made when you were five! Everyone was a stick figure in that picture!" Sam shook his head. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. She's gone, and she's never coming back." Way to be a dick, Sam.

"You take that back, you asshole!" Dean growled, launching himself at Sam. The two began an all-out brawl of manliness…by slapping at each other and pulling each other's hair.

"Ow! Don't aim for the _face,_ you barbarian!" Sam whined, feebly trying to defend himself.

"Your defense sucks!" Dean shot back, bitch-slapping Sam's other cheek. Suddenly Dean caught sight of something at the edge of the bridge and hesitated for a moment in his pummeling. Sam immediately took advantage of the situation and kicked his brother in the balls. Dean gurgled, went cross-eyed and collapsed like a ton of bricks.

Sam stood up and looked over at the edge of the bridge where Dean had been looking before, and saw the ghostly apparition of Constance, who shook her head at them sadly before turning to step off of the bridge. This was followed by a loud _crunch _and then several choice phrases that would make a sailor blush with shame. Sam raced over to the edge and peered over the side, but could see no sign of the girl.

"Where'd she go?" Dean ground out, struggling to stand up straight. Just then, the Impala, which had been parked several meters away, roared to life, headlights illuminating the entire bridge.

Sam and Dean exchanged a look. "…Please tell me you're the one doing that." Sam said nervously. Dean pulled the keys from his pocket, revealing that the car was operating on its own. The boys turned back to face the Impala. "Oh sh—"

The car suddenly propelled itself into forward motion, heading straight toward the boys. Dean shrieked and shoved Sam into the path of the car, the younger Winchester letting out a yelp of surprise. "Him first! Kill him first!" Dean yelled, throwing himself over the side of the bridge. Sam scrambled to his feet and jumped to the side, rolling away from the car as it screeched by, stopping when Sam was out of the line of fire.

Sam stood up, legs shaking as he dusted himself off. "Well, at least I still have my dignity." He frowned as he looked down at the crotch of his pants, realizing that he had pissed himself. "…Nope. Darn it." He shook his head and walked over to the side of the bridge, searching for his brother. "Dean? Come on man, you can't die yet; we're under contract for nine more seasons!" Just then Dean came crawling from the water, covered in mud, spluttering and looking about as happy as a wet cat. Sam smiled in relief. "Dean! You alright?"

Dean coughed and nodded as he made his way back up to the bridge. "Just super, Sammy. I'm covered in crap and I'm pretty sure I've broken at least three bones." He reached Sam, breathing heavily. "I guess this Constance bitch doesn't want us poking around in her business, huh?"

"Guess not." Sam frowned and squinted at Dean experimentally. "Is…is that _corn?"_ he asked, gagging. Dean looked down at himself, realizing that it wasn't just mud that covered his body.

"SON of a—"

-The Next Day, In A Motel Lobby-

Sam and Dean stood at the reception desk of a motel, trying to book a room. The clerk was trying desperately not to lose her lunch, as the smell permeating from Dean's body was enough to cause the plants in the room to wilt. The clerk glanced at the credit card in her hand, frowning slightly. "You guys having a reunion or something?" she asked.

"What?" Sam looked over at Dean, who shrugged.

"Well, the name on this card—Harry Pitt—I had another guy named Brad come in here a while ago. He booked a room for the whole month and then some. He also reeked of beer and loneliness, and just between us, I think he was compensating for _something_."

"Double donkey punch!" Sam threw a fist into the air. "We found him! You wouldn't mind telling us his room number, would you?"

The boys headed to the room that the clerk directed them to, only to find it locked. Sam pulled out his trusty lock pick and went to work. Once they were inside, they could see that the room was littered with newspapers, maps, beer cans, and VHS tapes of scantily clad women on the covers. The room clearly hadn't been inhabited for a while.

Sam glanced at the table, where there were several shotgun shells and a can of iodized salt. "Salt…hm…well, _this_ can't be good. Though it hasn't really been established in the show that salt is dangerous to supernatural creatures, but, hey, what's a little spoiler between characters and fans?"

"Judging by the stage of evolution that this hamburger is in," Dean said, gesturing to a slightly pulsating green _something_ in the corner of the room, "I'd say that Dad hasn't been here in a while."

"Gee, ya think?" Sam turned to look at the papers covering one wall. "What's all this?"

Dean moved over and pushed Sam out of the way, inspecting the maps and newspaper clippings. He frowned and perused the information, and then gasped. "What? Is it about the killings?" Sam asked eagerly.

"No, but the stock's up by ten points! _Sweeeet! _I'm gonna get my money!" Dean cheered, punching the air.

Sam kicked Dean in the shin. "Shut up! What about the Centennial road victims?"

"Oh. Right." Dean waved a hand dismissively. "Yeah, there's some crap here about Constance being a woman in white, blah blah blah. I dunno, I guess we could always go talk to her husband or something to see if we can find her motive. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go wash the excrement from my body. And the vomit from my mouth." Dean started toward the bathroom.

"Dean, wait." Dean turned to face Sam, who had a guilty and apologetic look on his face. "Dean, what I said earlier, about Mom and Dad…I didn't mean it. I'm just under a lot of pressure, and I have to ace my interview on Monday and I'm so sexually frustrated that I'm like a pubescent boy where everything makes me—okay, okay, I'm getting ahead of myself. What I'm trying to say is that I'm sorry."

Dean held up a hand and smiled. "It's all good, man."

"So I'm forgiven?" Sam asked, a hopeful smile on his face. Dean paused, and then punched him in the face.

_Wham!_

"Okay, NOW I forgive you."

"You're such a jerk!" Sam sputtered, blood pouring from his nose. Dean just laughed.

"Don't be a bitch, bitch." He smirked and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

-A Little While Later-

Sam sat on the bed in the motel room, listening to his voicemail with a pained expression on his face.

"_Sammy bear!" _Jess's voice cooed from the phone. "_It's me, your darling Jessie! Call me when you get this! Love you, boo!" _Next message: _"Hey Sammy, it's Jess again! You haven't called me since you left an hour ago, I'm just worried about you. Love you!"_ Next message: "_Samuel Winchester, you had so better not be cheating on me, because I swear to God—"_

"Hey there!" Dean walked out of the bathroom, all fresh and clean after hours of scrubbing crap off of his body. He casually ran a hand through his damp hair, ruffling it up as he picked up his jacket and slung it over his shoulder, all in all looking quite sexy. _Whistle!_ Several Dean Winchester fangirls screamed rabidly and threw themselves at him, only to be held back by several bodyguards. Dean winked at the girls, causing several to faint, before turning back to Sam. "I'm gonna go grab something to eat; wanna come with? I promise I won't spit in your drink this time."

Sam shook his head. "Nah. You go on ahead," he said, trying to sound disinterested. Secretly he was planning on having phone sex with Jess later and was praying for Dean to leave as soon as possible. He didn't know how much longer he could last.

Dean shrugged. "Suit yourself." He exited the motel room and started down the street when his woman senses began tingling. "Hm? What's this? Is someone checking out my ass?" He looked around to see who the lucky girl was, and then caught sight of the motel clerk in the lobby, talking to none other than…wait for it…Deputies Jaffe and Hein! Haven't seen you dudes in a while! How've ya been?

The clerk said something and pointed at Dean, who frowned. The deputies nodded and began to move in his direction, cracking their knuckles. It didn't take a genius to realize that the young Winchester was in deep doo-doo now. "Oh bleep," Dean whimpered as the officers approached.

Back in the motel room, Sam was attempting to get some shut-eye after a long day of having to put up with his dumb brother's antics. He was just beginning to doze off when—

"_My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard, and they're like, it's better than yours—"_

"Dammit Dean, what the eff do you want now?" Sam growled, picking up his cell phone and flipping it open angrily. "_What?"_

"Sammy…" Dean's voice sounded weak and feeble. "They got me, Sammy…get out of there…save yourself…"

"Okay," Sam agreed, starting to hang up.

"_Hey!"_ Dean barked. "You're supposed to be like, 'Don't worry, I'll get you out of this mess!' and all that crap!"

"Alright, fine! Jeez!" Sam looked out the window, seeing Dean in the middle of the parking lot with Jaffe and Hein closing in. "How the hell did they find us? I thought I gave them all our lunch money! Those jerks! How are we supposed to get out of this? Dad never prepped us on what to do if we _actually _got arrested!"

"Calm down, Sam. Just let me handle this." Dean hung up the phone and smiled at the officers, who wore identical expressions of pure malice. He opened his mouth to say something to Jaffe, who promptly punched Dean in the face, knocking him out cold. Sam sighed and dropped his face into his hands.

-At The Sheriff's Station, With Dean-

Dean sat in the questioning room at the station, nursing his newly blackened eye. "How am I supposed to win the ladies over _now?"_ he mourned, whimpering as he touched the bruise. Suddenly the door opened and Sheriff Pierce entered the room as the studio audience cheered him on. Dean smiled up at Pierce. "Heya, Sheriff! Long time no see! How's it hangin', brutha?" Pierce walked up to Dean and slapped him across the face. "Okay, that's not _quite_ the reunion I had in mind…"

"Can it!" Pierce growled, glaring at Dean. "I ask the questions, bi-otch! Now tell me: who are you? Why are you here? And does this uniform make my butt look big?"

Dean held his hands up defensively. "Hey man, look, all I'm trying to do here is solve a case, alright? And _maaaybe _get laid along the way, but that's not the point!"

"Shut up! It's _my_ turn to talk now!" Pierce snapped, slapping the other side of Dean's face. He pulled out an old leather-bound journal and set it on the table in front of Dean, who gasped in surprise when he saw it.

"Hey! That's Dad's diary! How the hell did _you_ get your mitts on it?" Dean paused. "…does it say where he keeps his porn stashed?"

Pierce smiled meanly. "Oh, don't worry. We've already got a theory." He flipped open to a random page and tapped the book. Dean leaned in closer to read and saw that John had written 'Dean 35-111. Don't screw it up. Later, sucker.' Dean looked back up at Pierce, who was raising an expectant eyebrow at him. "You gonna tell us what this means?"

-At The Welch House, The Next Day-

Sam walked up to an old, creepy-looking house. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door, waiting in suspense. The door _slooooowly_ began to creak open, and Sam cleared his throat and waited patiently. After a full five minutes, the door was open enough to reveal an old man standing on the other side. It was none other than Joseph Welch, Constance's former husband! _Dun, dun, dun!_

"Hi there," Sam said to Joseph politely. "Are you Joseph Welch?"

The man frowned for a moment, and then swiftly kicked Sam in the shins and slammed the door. Sam fell to his knees in pain. "Ow! God! The hell's wrong with you, old man?"

Joseph opened the door again, blinking in surprise. "Oh. Sorry about that. I thought you were another one of those Jehovah's Witnesses. Damn missionaries keep knocking on my door all hours of the day. I can't get rid of them!"

"Getting back to the point," Sam said, pulling out a photograph of John and holding it in front of Joseph. "Have you seen this guy before? He probably was wearing a bloodstained shirt, had a lumberjack beard, and stank to high heaven?"

"Yeah!" Joseph nodded immediately. "He stopped by like four days ago! …He sure was dreamy!" Joseph seemed to realize what he'd just said. "Uh, I mean, _that_ bastard? Sure, I remember. He was asking some seriously effed up questions, like where I kept my weed and if I was into S&M. The nerve! Oh, and he also wanted to know where my wife was buried."

Sam bit his lip, deep in thought. "So…where _was_ she buried?"

"Oh, I dumped her ass back at my old place on Breckenridge Road," Joseph said, waving a hand dismissively. "After she left our kids to die in the bath for her damn television show?" He shook his head. "She was a babe, though. Y'know, when she was alive and stuff. She was the love of my life, up until I started watching _How I Met Your Mother._ That Lily Aldrin? _Mmm!"_

"Mr. Welch," Sam interrupted, stopping the man's dirty train of thought. I have never loved you more, Sam. "Have you ever heard of a woman in white? Rumor has it that these are spirits who, when they were alive, were sucker-punched by their husbands' unfaithfulness. Basically, it was that time of the month and they would end up 'accidentally' killing their children. Talk about awkward family reunions."

Joseph spluttered. "I…you…it was one time! I was twenty-seven, and she was giving off that whole 'bad girl' vibe! You can't tell me you don't like a little hot sauce in your tacos, can you?"

"Shut up!" Sam snapped, going green in the face. "This story's only rated 'Teen', so clean it up, asshole! Gawd! Just change the damn scene!"

-Back At The Station With Dean!-

"We gonna do this all night, boy?" Sheriff Pierce growled, narrowing his eyes at Dean.

"I already told you," Dean snapped, glaring back at Pierce with an equally hard gaze, "I _don't_ have any sevens! Go fish, already!"

"Dammit," Pierce cursed, drawing a card from the deck. Just then an unnamed deputy (not Jaffe or Hein, though…sob) popped his head into the room.

"We got a 911, boss. Some dumbass smoked too much weed out on Whiteford Road and got his foot caught in a toaster again."

The Sheriff sighed and set his cards down on the table. He got up and walked over to Dean, handcuffing him to the table. "We'll finish this later. And no cheating this time!" he huffed as he left the room. Dean smirked and stealthily grabbed a paperclip that was sticking out of John's journal, going to work on picking the lock on the handcuffs open, succeeding in less than three seconds. He quickly grabbed the journal, paused to look at the sheriff's cards, and then bolted out the door.

-With Sam, Out On Centennial Highway-

Sam was driving the Impala at a dangerously high speed, paying no attention to the screaming of pedestrians as they attempted to dive out of harm's way. Just then, the song "Milkshake" filled the inside of the car, and Sam grabbed his phone, answering the call. "Yo, this be S-Dawg."

"Fake 911 call? I dunno, Sammy, that's pretty illegal. Like I said, you don't choose the thug life, the thug life chooses you." Dean's voice came from the other end of the line. "Anyway, thanks for busting me out."

"What are you talking about? I was just finishing dinner," Sam said, confused. "Red Lobster sounded pretty good, so I just—"

"Shut it, you butt-munch!"

"Anyway, so I found out some more crap," Sam continued. "Turns out the husband was a douchebag like all the other dudes that went missing, so it looks like we _are_ dealing with a woman in white. I had to blackmail the guy into telling me, but I found out that this Constance bitch is buried back at her old crib." He shook his head. "I just don't understand why Dad didn't burn her corpse to a crisp, yet."

"That's what I'm trying to tell you," Dean said. "Dad's gone. He ditched. I've got his diary, and you _know_ he doesn't go anywhere without it. Hey! Maybe this means he trusts us with the location of his porn, now!" Dean cackled in triumph. "I knew it! We just have to follow the coordinates he wrote down, meet up with him, and…"

Sam had stopped paying attention to Dean, as his gaze was suddenly drawn to his rearview mirror. He immediately slammed on the brakes, accidentally banging his forehead on the steering wheel as the car screeched to a halt. He whirled around to face Constance, who was sitting in the backseat. "HOLY FREAKING CRAP! How the HELL did you get in here?!"

"Uh, because I'm a ghost?" Constance shrugged. "Anyway, if you could just give me a lift home, I'd _really_ appreciate it. You wanna come hang out? I just bought ten boxes of Samoas!"

"Well, gee, that sounds…" Sam began, and Constance smiled in anticipation, "…AWFUL! Are you kidding me? I _hate_ Samoas! It's all about thin mints, bitch!"

"Okay, that does it!" Constance, using her creepy ghost powers, caused all the doors to lock and the gas pedal to hit the floor, throwing the car into forward motion. Sam screamed like a five-year-old girl and clutched the seat in terror as the car sped down the road, screeching to a halt in front of the old house from earlier in the episode when Troy got ganked. "OhdearsweetbabyJesusIdon'twannadie—oh, wait. We stopped. Whew!" Sam breathed a sigh of relief.

Constance stared sadly up at the house. "I can _never_ go home…" she whispered.

"…You're scared," Sam realized, and then it dawned on him. "Wait a minute. Are you out past curfew, young lady?" Constance suddenly appeared in the front seat and began climbing onto Sam's lap. "Whoa! Hold the _mayo!_ I have a girlfriend, ho! Why don't you talk to my brother, Dean, I hear he's available—ow!"

Constance had dug her hand into Sam's chest, burning several holes in his hoodie. Sam gasped in indignation. "This was brand new! Abercrombie and Fitch! You _whore!"_ Just then, several gunshots rang out, shattering the window and scaring the living crap out of Constance and Sam. They looked out the window to see the one and only Dean Winchester, who had miraculously made it out to the house just in time to save the day!

Dean grinned and fired the gun at Constance, who flickered, disappearing and reappearing as Dean kept firing. Sam managed to sit up and start the car, sending it crashing into the house. Dean ran over, stumbling over debris to reach his brother in the front seat of the car. "Sam! You alright?"

Sam groaned and dragged himself out of the car, wincing in pain. "Yeah…I-I think so."

"Good." Dean promptly slapped Sam across the face. "That was for injuring my baby, you ruffian!" Dean leaned down to kiss the Impala tenderly, while Sam clapped a hand to his mouth and tried not to vomit.

Suddenly a bureau drawer slid across the floor and slammed into the boys, pinning them to the side of the car. Constance stood across the room, glaring at them. "Now, you die," she hissed. The lights began to flicker, and Constance's expression went from angry to confused. Water began pouring down the steps in the house and she made a disgusted face. "Huh. That's weird. The plumber was just here a few days ago—" Just then she noticed the figures of two young children at the top of the stairs. "Oh, it's you guys. Crap."

"Mommy's home!" the children sang, suddenly appearing next to Constance, who looked as though she had swallowed a live cockroach. "Now we can stay up all night and watch Teletubbies forever!"

"No! Get away from me, you brats!" Constance tried to escape, but her children hugged her tightly, preventing her from leaving. She let out a wail and, in a surge of energy, the three of them appeared to melt down into a puddle of water on the floor. Sam and Dean managed to push the bureau out of the way and walked over to the spot where Constance had vanished.

"…Gotta lay off the drugs," Dean whispered to himself. Then he looked over at Sam and smiled. "Good job on figuring out her weakness, by the way: she was too scared to go home to face her kids after what she did to them."

"Actually, I was just hoping you'd show up and save my ass. But I like your version better."

Dean laughed, punching Sam in the arm and giving him yet another bruise to add to his collection, and then turned back to the Impala, a seductive grin on his face. "Now, where were we, baby?" Sam gagged and then ran off into the corner to lose his lunch and Dean began to make out with the car.

-A Little While Later-

Dean was driving down the road, whistling along with the radio while Sam was decked out in a full radiation suit with their father's journal open on his lap as well as a map of the United States, investigating the mysterious coordinates John had left them. "So it looks like it's a place called Blackwater Ridge, Colorado," Sam said, closing the journal. "Why would Dad hide the porn there, though?"

"Who cares? We're one step closer to being the happiest men on earth!" Dean crowed in triumph, pumping a fist into the air. "Ten bucks says we'll be there in four hours or less!"

"With _you_ driving? We wouldn't get there until Christmas." Sam shook his head. "Anyway, Dean, I gotta get back anyway. The interview? Remember?"

"Oh, right. Yeah. Of course." Dean nodded, sounding a bit disappointed. He drove back to Sam's apartment, pulling up in front of the building. He glanced over at Sam with a raised eyebrow. "You sure you don't want to tag along or anything? Anything at all? I mean, we made a hell of a team back there, Sammy, I just think—"

"_No_, Dean," Sam said firmly, getting out of the car.

Dean leaned out the window. "Are you su—"

"I said NO! Gawd! Leave me alone already!" Sam snapped, and then let out a sigh. "Hey, call me if you find the porn, alright? As if I'd let you hog it all to yourself." He tapped the top of the car twice and headed inside. Dean gave his brother the middle finger before driving off.

Sam entered the apartment, which was dark and quiet. "Jessie, baby! You home?" He looked around. The apartment was completely trashed, most of Sam's things tossed about. Sam walked over to the counter, where there was a plate of chocolate chip cookies and a note that read _'Sammy bear! I couldn't get a hold of you so I called the FBI. I hope that's okay. Miss you, boo!'_. Sam smiled affectionately and picked up a cookie, taking a bite. Almost immediately he spat it back out in disgust, sending chunks of cookie flying all over the counter. Grimacing, Sam moved into the bedroom and flopped onto the bed, a content smile on his face as he closed his eyes.

Suddenly, something dark and red dripped onto Sam's face. He frowned, reaching up to touch the stuff. "Where the hell did this ketchup come from?" he wondered, and then he caught sight of Jess, who was stuck to the ceiling with a bloody slash across her stomach and a look of terror/stupidity frozen on her face. "…Dammit, Jess! Have you been playing with the super glue again?"

Just then, Jess's body burst into flame, and Sam's eyes widened in horror. "No! I just spent hundreds of dollars repainting the ceiling, too!" he sobbed.

Suddenly Dean burst into the room, looking pissed. "Sammy! I just remembered; you still owe me money!" He looked up and saw Jess's body, and his mind was suddenly assaulted with memories of his mother, who died the exact same way all those years ago. "Hey wait, how the hell do I remember that? I wasn't even in the room at the time!" He moved over to Sam and yanked him off of the bed and into the hallway. "Come on, Sam! We gotta go!"

"I won't leave without Jess!" Sam protested. Just then a minor explosion of fire burst through the doorway, beginning to set the rest of the apartment on fire. Sam looked thoughtful for a moment. "…But then again, it's her ass, not mine!" He then turned and ran out the door, Dean close behind him.

-A Little While Later, After The Fire-

Dean stared up at Sam's former apartment, which was now little more than burnt out shell. Firemen and police officers flocked the scene, trying to hold back gawkers. "Nothing to see here, people! Move along!" one police officer said into a megaphone. Just then, another fiery explosion came from the building, lighting the sky up like firecrackers and making a terrific noise. Several people oohed and aahed at the sight.

Dean sighed and walked back over to the Impala, which was parked a little ways away. Sam was rummaging through the trunk, his face set in a mask of pure anguish. Dean hesitantly approached him. "You okay, bro?"

"Oh, yes, I'm fantastic," Sam drawled sarcastically. "I just watched my girlfriend and the only home I ever had burn to—OF COURSE I'm not okay, you asshole! What kind of question is that?"

"You don't have to _shout!"_ Dean dissolved into tears.

Sam growled and tossed the shotgun he'd been loading into the trunk, staring down into the arsenal with a determined look in his eyes. "We've got work to do," he stated as he slammed the trunk shut, accidentally catching his thumbs in the latch. "MOTHERFU—"

-End Episode 1-


End file.
